The Politics of Drawers
by Dream Writer 4 Life
Summary: The middle drawer—it's yours." The five words that changed three people's lives forever. A funny look at about fifteen seconds' worth of footage. A Dream Writer Experience.
1. A Guy Moment

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Title: The Politics of Drawers

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Author: Dream Writer 4 Life

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Rating: PG-13 for sexual innuendo

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Genre: Romantic comedy

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Spoilers: Up through "Endgame", of course

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Shippers' Paradise: S/V all the way! Whoo hoo!

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Archived: SD-1, FanFiction.Net, and Cover Me. Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive!

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Disclaimer: Again with the list of things I don't own [shakes out slightly longer roll]: 'Alias' or it's characters, the L.A. Kings, Easy-Bake Ovens, Walgreen's, Trojan condoms, Lucky Larry's Laundromat, and the idea of candles in Vaughn's condom drawer (that's Jenn's: chapter 40 of AUS, if I remember correctly. I thought it was cute; hope you don't mind I put it in here!).

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Summary: "The middle drawer—it's yours." The five words that changed three people's lives forever. A funny look at about fifteen seconds' worth of footage. A Dream Writer Experience

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Author's Note: This insight into a guy's mind is the result of having too many guy friends and hanging out with them too much while on a lethal dose of Pixie Stix. Anyway, enjoy! And make sure you leave reviews. I'd love to know what you think! (Constructive criticism is always welcome.) 

The Politics of Drawers

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Chapter One

"The middle drawer—it's yours."

What?

Since when did we…share furniture?

Now, apparently.

Excuse me if I slip into Man Speak, here, but that blank stare I gave her — you know, the one bordering on shock and possibly nausea — mirrored exactly what I was feeling. For the moment, at least. In those seconds, _fractions of seconds_, I worked through a myriad of emotions that most boyfriends just run from. The biggest being…commitment. (Who said that?!) Sure, Syd and I have had sex, saved each other more times than I care to count, and waited for one another for about two years, but a drawer? That iss crazy! (Is it hot in here, or is it just me?) You'd think I would have had half of a closet at Alice's apartment but no, I never even had a…drawer. (Whew. Walls starting to close in.) Of course, Syd and I are inexplicably closer than Alice and I ever were, even with our relationship on the back burner for the better part of two years. (Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?) And seconds was all I needed to mull over the new development before exclaiming with mind-numbing wit and intelligence:

"Yeah?"

'Yeah.' That's all I could come up with? Someone remind me how I came to be a handler with such impressive verbal vernacular! How can she be involved with a guy whose favourite words seem to be "hey" and "yeah"? Yeah, I don't have the greatest vocabulary when she's within a mile but hey, that's what she does to me. (Oops…Heh, heh. I'm gonna invest in a thesaurus and expand my word choice, now…)

"It's just a drawer."

How can anything be _just anything_ when it comes to us? The picture frame wasn't; neither was my Kings pen or the watch story. If writing utensils and household knickknacks aren't safe from symbolism and invisible connotations, then what is? First it's a drawer, then closet space, and next thing you know, it's his-and-her hand towels on the towel rack in the bathroom and a tea cozy! Now, that's the normal progression of a normal guy's mind in a normal relationship. But then again…since when have _we_ been normal?! 'Normal' is not even in our vocabularies! (Not surprising for me, right?) So, I actually wouldn't be surprised if we got the tea cozy before I get closet space.

And frankly, this doesn't scare me at all. At least, not in the way it should. I guess I'm just afraid of never getting to that point: that one of us won't be here to give or receive the closet space. Because of this extremely unpleasant fact, I'm more inclined to rush things along; I want to experience as much as humanly possible as quickly as possible simply because we might not be able to share these moments later. God, I love her so much! (Did I just say the L-word? Did I _just say_ the L-word? Whew! Go-od. Now I just need to say it to her face. Gotta work on that later…)

And how do I show my appreciation for this immensely _sweet_ gesture?

"I'm just saying it's a great idea."

Understatement of the Year.

We have a winner!

But seriously, whoever thought that wood could make a person so happy? Wait a second. Let me rephrase that. Whoever thought that _five planks_ of wood would make a person so happy? Yeah, that's it. We've shared so many other things together, parents' 'deaths' notwithstanding, that this shouldn't even register as a blip on the radar. _But it does._ What does that say about me? That I'm analyzing this _way_ too much? Or, as I said before, is this just the next step in Sydney and Michael's Wild and Crazy Quest for the Perfect Relationship? I'm thinking it's the latter. And I can't wait for what's next.

As for Weiss…

You know, I swear to God, one day his flapping mouth is gonna reach around and embed itself up his ass, and I will just sit there and laugh.

Or I'll do it myself.

'What did you put in it?' Honestly, what does he _think_ I put in the damn thing? A live bullfrog? Five pounds of dirt for a small garden? My handy-dandy Easy-Bake Oven and mini-fridge from college for late-night snacks? No, that's not Weiss's style; he's more of a dear-Lord-she's-hot-tell-me-everything-about-her-down-to-her-bra-size-natural-hair-colour-and-the-brand-of-her-panties. In other words, a perve at large. When I told him that it was merely for convenience, he most likely took that to mean that we would have a common "sex drawer." He probably thinks that I immediately ran and bought out an entire Walgreen's and stacked the damn thing with every kind of condom imaginable including lubricated, pleasure-enhancing, glow-in-the-dark, and mint-flavoured. All Trojan, of course. No, no, no, wait! He thought that we'd use the drawer for sexual pleasure! (Is that even possible?) Or maybe…

Wow. I need to stop hanging out with this man. The effect he's had on my subconscious (and my sexual innuendo encyclopedia) is so large that I am scared for my IQ level. Whenever I'm around him in "Sleazeball Mode," I feel so much smarter that my brain starts to hurt; when I leave to be with Syd, I am sent crashing down to Earth. I feel sorry for the man, because it's really a double-edged sword: he can make even the dumbest blonde feel smart when he's drunk, and he can also make the dumbest blonde feel _smart_. Catch my drift?

So I can almost see why he doesn't have a girlfriend to offer him a drawer.

But I don't see why he refused my drawer. I mean, every time he gets drunk off his ass, he takes a cab to _my_ house. A place to store spare clothes really would be a convenience. Every time it's me who has to drive to his apartment, grab his dog, and pick up a change of clothes. Frankly, I'm tired of it. If it would save me a trek across town, I would gladly surrender half of my bureau to Weiss and his pervish devices. But wait a second…Uh oh…

Would that mean I have to wash his disgusting clothes? That I have to make yet _another_ trip per week to Lucky Larry's Laundromat to wash his smelly, day-after-Mardi-Gras-nasty suits?

Yeah right.

No way.

No freakin' way.

I am _not_ going to handle his vomit-caked, beer-soaked garments. Not without large sums of money and many rolls of blackmail photographs.

But wait just one more second…

Would that mean that Syd would do _my_ laundry?! My boxers would be mixed in with her…ahem…unmentionable delicates? Now _that_ I could deal with! That right there is fodder for at least a month's worth of fantasies and wet dreams. Her fingers washing my silk boxers by hand…her bras…her panties with them…her bras…It would be only common courtesy to wash your boyfriend's dirty clothes if they were mingled with your own on the floor. I mean, I would do it if the rolls were reversed…

Oh, my God.

Does this mean I have to give her a drawer at my place?

Will she actually come over and use the drawer if I gave it to her?

Will she ever see my apartment?

Will Donovan think her clothes smell funny and foreign and try to shred them?

Will she think I'm weird because I have candles in my condom drawer? 

Will she think my apartment's too manly and dirty and won't even want a drawer there?

Do I have to start wearing silk boxers?

Oh man, this is too much to try to decipher right now. My brain's throbbing just thinking about it. Should I just take the gesture at face value? No connotations, no hidden meanings: it's just a drawer. Right? Oh, jeez.

For now, I think I'll just let it be. As long as Weiss and I aren't off to federal prison to share a cell, I believe I will be fine. Yeah, I know I've been a guy about it so far, but hey, it happens when you hang around Weiss too much. (Again with the vocab, Vaughn! You're dating a lit major, for Pete's sake!) It's just a piece of furniture for convenience, and that's all Syd probably mean it to be. From now on, I'm gonna leave the over-analyzing and politics of drawers to the women of the species. They're better at it, anyway.


	2. A GirlyGirl Moment

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Title, Author, Feedback, Archived, Rating, Genre, Spoilers, Shippers' Paradise, and Disclaimer: All the same as before. : ) Oh! Addition to the **disclaimer:** I say "pop" not "soda" or "coke" because I am from the Midwest. Therefore, the characters will say "pop" because I don't know what y'all say down in southern Cali; I didn't bother to ask my friend from Moreno Valley the last time he was up here.

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Summary: Vaughn's had his moment in the sun, and now it's Syd's turn to shine. Syd mulls over her decision to give our favourite male handler the Drawer and what it could possibly mean in the future. Weiss still involved! A Dream Writer Experience.

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Author's Note: Hey all, I'm back with another chapter. This wasn't originally going to go multi-chapter, but miss.pebbles (aka elynn) inspired me and ideas came.

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Chapter 2

"The middle drawer—it's yours."

Oh, my God.

What have I done?

I just sandwiched Vaughn's belongings in between my socks and my bras and panties! That is a guy's worst fear: being presented with commitment without any pretense or disguise. I should have taken it back, especially when he looked like he was literally about to spill his guts onto my brand new comforter. But then…but then he looked so pleased and he gave me the smile that he _knows_ makes my knees disappear.

In other words, he seemed totally fine with it.

But I don't know if _I _am fine with it.

What _have_ I done?

This opens up a whole different can of worms for our new relationship. I mean, two CIA agents almost residing at the same house? The same two that are known to the world, Sloane in particular, to be _very good_ and would be _great targets_ for the "kill two birds with one stone" method? I don't know if I like that idea. But then again, it's Vaughn. _It's Vaughn._ If it's one thing that he will not just glance over, it's my safety. That is one of the things I love about him. (But sometimes he needs to lighten up a bit. He's always going on about, "No, a twenty-mile run and then eating an entire cheese pizza is NOT good for you…No, midnight snacks won't help your complexion…No, you shouldn't wear the incredibly sexy blue dress: I think you wore it in Helsinki…No, all children should NOT have to go through mandatory field training and operations just so they don't have to sit in class and learn geography…" I know he thinks he's being endearing, but sometimes he takes a joke a little too seriously.) 

I wonder what he puts in his drawers? No, not THAT kind. I _know_ what he puts in there. I bet he has a separate section for each article of clothing: t-shirts in one drawer, undershirts in another, jeans in yet another. Or maybe he organizes his apparel by season with one quarter of the drawers dedicated to each one. Or maybe both: maybe he has quartered off his drawers! Ha! I'll have to ask him about that.

How does he organize his sock drawer? Does he sort them by colour? Brand? Make, size, length, outfit they go with? I guess it really depends on how anal one wants to view him. If he was the definition of the word, he would sort them by all of the above. If not so much, maybe by season. But if he were anything like me, he'd merely throw 'em into the damn thing immediately after drying, not really caring where they end up. (Hmm. Maybe that's why I lose so many. One day, I should really employ Will or Francie to help me look for them. They couldn't all have fallen behind my hamper and the dryer.) If I'm good, one day I'll actually get to see his sock drawer.

And when exactly will that be? I've never been to his damn apartment and he already has a freakin' drawer at mine! What's up with that? I'd like to see some reciprocation, here! He was going to give me a key, but we all know how I blew that attempt at normal domesticity. Just another Sydney Bristow-sized blunder. No need to panic. You know, I'd pretty much settle for a drive-by. I picture him driving, the music of some really cheesy boy band blaring from the speakers, and he all of a sudden slows and points out past the windshield to a small, plain, _quaint_ building with small balconies and lots and lots of colourful flower boxes. He's gesturing towards a corner apartment on the top floor, away from most of the noise of the street and closer to the GPS satellite thousands of miles above. Donovan — and maybe Alan — are dozing peacefully in the warm spring sun, their snoring almost audible over the honking horns. I imagine Vaughn turning to me and smiling That Smile, trying to pleasantly ignore the plentiful curses and obscene gestures from the other motorists.

That's all it is for now: my imagination at play. But it won't be that way for long; it'll happen soon enough. No, I'm not being naïve; I'm just being extremely optimistic about this whole occasion. You have to look on the bright side sometimes, just to keep sane, even though it's not the smartest road to take.

Speaking of being impeccably smart…

I'm gonna kill Weiss.

No, torture him, then kill him.

This plan involves honey, syrup, ice cream, whipped cream…and lots and lots of fire ants.

You have no idea how thoroughly I've thought out torturing Agent Eric Weiss. And all ways are completely unconventional. Those are my specialty.

Don't get me wrong, I love the man to death, but he can really be a pain in the ass at times. Vaughn told me what he said before I called him from the drug store; I swear to God, one day he's going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and get one or all of us killed. But until that day comes, he can have as much fun torturing and poking fun at Vaughn as he has breath, because I know that he will never mess with me for fear of permanent inability to have children. And I also know that when Vaughn gets frustrated beyond belief, he comes back to my place and takes it out on me (in a good way, of course)…

'What did you put in it?' Honestly! What does he think the man filed away? Whips? Chains? Other items of bondage usable for sexual pleasure that I am not aware of _because I am not perverted?!_ Yeah, that's probably it. At least, that's all I'll try to predict, anyway. There's no telling how low in the gutter his brain can dig itself, so I won't even try to follow it. It's too much of a slippery slope that I don't wish to slide down.

But what _did_ Michael Vaughn put in that drawer? I never bothered to actually check after he came over last. I wonder if he put some condoms in there…you know, just in case my stash runs out. Or maybe one of those little refrigerators that can only hold, like, two cans of pop! But…ew! What if he put some sort of gross surprise in there to catch me if I went snooping, like fake worms or snakes or frogs? In reality, he probably just slapped in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt or two, and some underwear and socks. Honestly, I'm probably just overanalyzing this—

Wait a second.

Does this mean I have to do his laundry? His nasty, sweaty dress clothes and such mingling with my…ahem…delicates?! I don't think so! He's a grown man; he can do his own damn laundry as long as he has his own place to live. If he wants someone to do his chores for him, I suggest he go and hire a maid or, better yet, a nanny. Although…I guess it would be kinda nice if I did our laundry together. _Domestic_, even. Well, if you think of it that way…

Maybe this whole drawer thing wasn't such a bad idea/impromptu snap decision after all. Vaughn sure doesn't seem too bent out of shape about it. Why should I be? Why am I being such a girl about this? It's our first step towards being happily domesticated in painfully obvious normalcy, and neither of us mind a whole bunch. I think from now on, I'm gonna leave the politics of drawers (and other relationship milestones, for that matter) to girly cheerleader women who like that sort of thing and DON'T have to worry about national security. I think it's their job, anyway, and I don't want to take that away from them. I mean, I wouldn't want _them_ doing _my_ job.


	3. Enter Yenta Weiss and His Stupid Questio...

Everything's the same…yadda, yadda, yadda…

This Chapter: This is when the actual story comes into play. You'll see what I mean.

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Chapter 3: Enter Yenta!Weiss and His Stupid Questions

"We have got tot stop being this late. One of these days they're going to catch on and start suspecting something."

"I know."

"I thought this drawer was going to save us some time, not make us even later!"

"I know!"

"I guess it didn't help that we kicked out the alarm clock last night. Weiss is going to have a field day with this, you realize that don't you?"

"I know."

"Do you say anything other than 'I know'? You're not listening to me anymore, are you?"

"I kn—Wait a second, what?"

"That's what I thought." Sydney and Vaughn pulled into the parking garage down the street from the CIA building. She parked the car with an audible screech, grabbed her briefcase and purse from the backseat, and was out the door by the time he had unbuckled his seat belt. He yelled at her to wait up, but she had already disappeared down the cement staircase. By the time he caught up, she was waiting at the stoplight, tapping her foot impatiently and her fist thrusting into her hip. He had to laugh: they both looked like normal disgruntled employees on the way to work. Before he could say a word, the light changed and she dashed across the intersection like death was on her heels. As he sprinted to keep up, they entered the building, hurriedly flashing their security passes to the guards, and opted for the elevator.

The wait for that tiny little box seemed like eternity and a day, and when it finally did arrive, there seemed to be at least a hundred people scrambling to get out, the graveyard shift finally over. They entered after the stream/river, and she began tapping the "basement" button so vigorously that he thought she was going to punch the panel in.

After two extremely long and tense minutes of silence (during which Vaughn's sides were aching trying not to laugh) the doors crawled open. Flying to their respective desks, they mutually hoped that when people noticed their flushed faces, tousled hair, and disheveled appearances, they would not get the wrong idea. Weiss was waiting for Vaughn as he threw his briefcase onto his desk from a distance. He watched as it slid across the metal surface and back onto the floor, dragging his awaiting paperwork with it.

As Vaughn groaned, Weiss leaned upon the desk, folding his arms across his chest and giving Vaughn a haughty look. "Well, well, well. Finally decide to take a risk and open the bedroom door? Come up for air? Put on some clothes for more than half an hour?"

"Stop giving me that holier-than-thou look. It doesn't suit you."

"How do you know how I'm looking at you? You're not even looking at me."

"I just…know." Vaughn plunked the mess of papers along with his briefcase onto his desk and collapsed into his chair on wheels. He heaved a sigh as he looked at the discombobulated pile; he had a meeting in thirty minutes that required that the entire mess be completed. He thought that if he ignored him long enough, Weiss would eventually slink away to his own desk to do his own paperwork and to talk to his own self.

Unfortunately that did not work.

Instead, Eric perched on a corner of his friend's desk, pulled a slinky out of his pocket, and began slinging it from hand to hand. "You know, Jack noticed that you two were late. More importantly, he noticed that you two were late _together_."

Vaughn reached for a pen, trying to block out what could possibly be the Most Annoying Sound in the World. "So?"

"'So?' So Jack is going to kill you. No, worse than kill you. He's going to lock you in a cage, do his best Hannibal Lector impersonation, act out 'The Music Man' in its entirety, and _then_ kill you. Yeah, that would be _so_ much worse than just shooting you in the face."

"Was he really that pissed?"

"I seriously thought that I saw steam come out of his ears and his hairline recede at least an inch."

"Oh God, I'm in trouble."

Eric allowed his friend to get started on his work while the silver metal spring bounced back and forth from hand to hand. He knew he should get to his own stack of papers (he was required to be at the same meeting in twenty minutes), but he was having way too much fun thinking up possible ways to drive Mike out of his mind. "So this drawer…" He mused, drawing out the last word like he was pulling taffy. "Are you enjoying it? Wait a second, stupid question. It's probably the reason why you're late, isn't it?"

Vaughn paused in the middle of writing a word. "How the hell do you know this? Do you have bugs in her apartment? Do you follow us? Are you perverted like that? Wait a second, stupid question."

His friend laughed sarcastically and increased the slinky's speed ever so slightly. "Ha, ha, ha. Would you answer the question? I was actually being serious for once."

"You really want to know how the drawer is doing? You want to know how _the drawer_ is _doing_?"

Weiss widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows 'til they almost met his hairline, making him look like a slightly deranged clown. "Yes, Mikey. Would you like me to use one-syllable words so that you can un-der-stand me? Or do you want me to spell it out for you? Do you even know how to spell 'drawer'? D-r-a-w—"

"Shut up. You better stop talking or…or…or—"

"Or what? Come on, spit it out. While I'm young and sexy."

Vaughn raised an eyebrow as he began to shuffle sheets again. "Or I'll somehow revive Project Helix and double you so I can kick your ass twice."

His friend's face fell and he shook his head in disgust. "That was the worst comeback I've ever heard, my friend. Have I taught you nothing? Oh, I'm a complete failure at teaching!"

"Dude, calm down. Don't get your panties in a knot."

"Ooh. Someone's grown some balls. Well, obviously: you had to be pleasing Syd with _something_!"

"Weiss, we're at work! This is not the place for blatantly obvious sexual innuendo. There are literally eyes and ears everywhere."

"Oh calm down, will you? Everyone's already had their daily update of 'As the World Turns: the Sydney and Michael Story'. Now just answer my damn question: are you enjoying your drawer?"

Vaughn sighed in exasperation, abandoning his work for good by ripping the slinky out of his friend's hand and angrily slamming it in a drawer. "I told you, it's just for convenience. Get your mind out of the gutter. Why would I be enjoying it in any other way? I only put clothes in it. Whoo hoo. Big party there."

"I don't know. Maybe you found another use for it. And I'm not perverted, just open-minded and creative. I mean, if I had a girlfriend like Syd, I'd do anything that she'd be willing to do. If I had a girlfriend _period_…Hell, I'd pretty much do anything _now_. By the way why do nice, portly, non-pretty guys finish last? It's not fair that you hunky men monopolize all the women. Can't just one of them settle for Hot Guy's Best Friend?"

"Aw! I'd settle for you, Eric." Syd suddenly appeared at another corner of Vaughn's desk, smiling so widely that she left them both wondering just exactly how much of their conversation she heard. She moved a folder or two and a cup of stale coffee from the day before aside so that she had room to perch herself on his desk as well. Suddenly Vaughn was becoming very claustrophobic. "The minute Vaughn and I are over, I'll dig out the number you gave me the first day I was here and call you. Oh, did I ever apologize for breaking your jaw that day? 'Cause I really am sorry about that." She offered him an apologetic grin while he rubbed his jaw, reminiscent, and her boyfriend glared between the two of them, not knowing which part of that sentence to correct first.

"But—what—who—when—huh?"

Weiss rolled his eyes and tousled his friend's hair, attempting to muss with his perpetual case of perfect bed-head. "What he means is he'll be happy for the two of us when we have five hundred little Weisses and Sydneys running around and spying on each other. Sorry he's a little sluggish right now; can you tell we were talking about you? Speaking of sluggish, man, you gotta go: this meeting of ours starts in exactly one minute."

The look on Vaughn's face at that moment could have been used for at least ten years' worth of blackmail photos. He hurriedly shoved his belongings into the open briefcase and loaded what did not fit into his arms. Before making the fastest getaway in CIA history he called behind him, "What about you? Aren't you coming?"

"Right behind ya, buddy," Eric yelled after his friend, wagging a hand at him indifferently. "You gotta let someone else be late from time to time. You know, break the cycle for a little change of pace. I'll keep everyone on their toes."

Vaughn visibly hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should leave his "open-minded and creative" best friend with his girlfriend. One, he reminded himself, that he would like to keep for the _entire_ duration of the day. With another blasé wave of Weiss's hand, he uncertainly rushed off down a corridor and out of the bullpen.

Turning back to Sydney, Eric followed his friend's girlfriend back to her desk where her own stack of papers, maps, and reports were piling up. Sighing as she sat down, she cleared a space on the side of her desk only for it to be covered moments later by Eric's bottom. She smiled up at him as she shuffled the stacks around, organizing them according to her specific pattern. "May I help you, Agent Weiss?"

Without pretense he titled his head and asked, "So. A drawer, huh? What gave you that idea?"

"Why the hell do you care?"

"It was just a question."

"It was a very nosy question."

"Hey, Mike's my best friend. I just want what's best for him."

"And one of my drawers isn't up to par."

"No, that's not what I said."

"Yeah, but that's what you implied."

"Ah!" Weiss swiped his hand through the air to cut her off. "You women! You people are the masters at twisting words. Especially mine."

"Oh, but they're so easy to twist."

"Syd, be quiet!" Her lips snapped shut like magnets. "Good. Now stay…Alright. What I meant was are you really that serious already? Or he wasn't lying when he said it was only for convenience?"

"He said it was only for convenience?"

"Just answer the damn question, Syd. What is it with you two and evading the topic at hand? What, were you trained to be this good?" She gave him a Look. "Wait. I'll correct myself. Stupid question, right?"

"You bet."

"Okay…so answer the question, oh Great and Powerful, Beautiful, Smart, and Impeccably Strong Daughter of Jack Bristow."

When she looked up at him, it seemed that her eyes had grown three shades deeper and four times rounder. "Eric, can we please not discuss this, especially here and now? That's really between Vaughn and me."

"Naturally that means the entire world has a right to know about it. So fork it over."

Standing up to her full height and lifting her chin, she sufficiently intimidated the taller man. "Not on your under-sexed life, Eric Weiss."

That sufficiently shut him up.

The two were in the same position when a disgruntled Vaughn reappeared at the corner of his girlfriend's desk. Clearing his throat loudly to attract their attention, he smiled genuinely at Sydney, but the grin turned upside down when his gaze landed on Weiss. "When the hell were you planning on telling me that our meeting was cancelled?"

"Now. Our meeting's cancelled," He replied, smiling smugly and crossing his arms over his chest. "If you were actually answering your phone last night or reading those papers, you would have eventually figured out that our meeting was _rescheduled to tomorrow_. So you have one more chance to be on time before Kendall or Devlin or Spy Daddy have a tangible reason to poison your ass."

Sydney was struggling to hold back her laughter with both of her hands as Vaughn strained to resist the urge to wrap his fingers around his friend's pudgy neck. She sat down as a figure moving towards her caught her eyes. "Hey, speaking of which, here comes Dad now. And whoa! Wonder why he's got the stick so far up his ass already this morning? Isn't it a little early for it to be halfway to his brain? Hate to see who he's going to bitch at."

Vaughn's face etiolated and jaw dropped to the desktop. Abandoning his papers and briefcase, he issued a small "eep" before running with reckless abandon down a random corridor.

Weiss could not hold in his laughter as the two remaining agents watched his rapidly retreating back. "And people call him a spy…Gosh, the way people throw around words these days; it's kinda like 'the best' or 'cool' or 'love'."

"Why's he in such a hurry? What's eating him?"

The male agent smiled slyly, still peering down the hallway where they last saw Agent Michael Vaughn. "Oh, it's nothing. Your father just probably saw you two fraternizing. He knows you two were late, by the way."

"Oh. Yeah, I better make like a banana and split, too. And in the opposite direction of Vaughn."

"Come on. You couldn't come up with a better pun than that? Not even 'make like a tree and leave'? And I thought you were a lit major."

"I'd shut up if I were you, Weiss. That is, if you _ever_ plan on pleasing a female again."

"Lips shutting now."


	4. Keys, Surprises, and Snakes: Oh My!

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Everything's the same…

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This Chapter: All aboard the AU Train! See chapter title…anything else would give everything away. Oh, and it's IMMENSLY FLUFFY! Cotton Candy Warning.

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Suggested Soundtrack: Any cheesy boy band song you can think of (I chose "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You" by 'N Sync) and "This is the Night" by Clay Aiken

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Author's Note: Okay, here's a little story. I decided to work on this because it's Winter Break, I don't want to do my homework, and this has gone unfinished long enough. Well, I haven't seen "Endgame" in a while, so I whip out my Season 2 DVD's to check it out. I'm watching it, and all of a sudden…WHAM! There's footage of the Drawer Scene that wasn't there when it aired! (Believe me, I checked my tapes.) Maybe I just catch on slow, but I was really excited. It inspired me to finish this the way I did. If you don't have the DVD's, it's worth the $50 or so just to see the extended scene. (There's another about ten seconds during "A Dark Turn" too.) Anyways, enjoy this last chapter!

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Chapter Four: Keys, Surprises, and Snakes: Oh My!

Some people say that those who work at the CIA have no designated working hours, no starting or quitting time. That the whistle never blows; they never get a chance to punch out. That they're never really off the clock.

They're right.

That's why the sharpest tools in the shed _make_ their hours.

Sydney and Vaughn are pretty damn sharp. Which is why they left the Ops Centre at a fairly decent time that day: nine o'clock PM. Syd's usually clipped pace was toned down, her unsteady legs too tired to carry her much faster. She noticed this because Vaughn was able to keep up with her on their hike to the Federal Annex.

They hit every red light on the way by some ungodly feat, but neither minded much. As neither of them carried a briefcase due to the near-certainty of being pickpocketed, their hands were free to holding anything or anyone they desired. (And anyways, they had wormed themselves out of any 'homework', as Weiss called it, that Kendall could have possibly assigned. What with their sharpness and all.) After only the second red light those hands desired to link themselves together for the entire world to see. If the couple had not been of reasonably sound mind, they would have spread apart as far as their combined arm span could carry them, pointed to their conjoined hands, and said to the passersby, "See? See right here? Yeah, that's right: we're holding hands. _In public_. And no one's shooting at us. Isn't it wonderful!"

But they weren't and they didn't.

In fact, the two were probably as close as they could get without crawling into the other's clothes. Although Vaughn's fingers were flirting dangerously with the hem of Sydney's jacket.

Somehow they made it to the parking garage without any other major public displays of affection other than halting at every red light and passionately embracing until the walk sign flashed again. (Once, they even missed it; they'd had to wait a second time.) As they approached Syd's car, Vaughn stepped in front of her.

"Gimme the keys."

She stared at him, puzzled. "What?"

With as straight a face as he could muster he repeated, "Gimme the keys."

"No, I heard you," She affirmed, struggling to keep a nervous giggle from bubbling up in the middle of a word. She raised her eyebrows and lilted her mouth. "Why do you want my keys?"

He rolled his eyes and slouched slightly. "So I can scratch my ear. What do you think?"

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Give. Me. The. Keys."

"N-O," She answered, mirroring his tone perfectly. "Look, it's only about nine thirty. I'm not drunk; I'm not about to fall asleep. I don't need a designated driver, Vaughn."

"I know. Now gimme the keys."

"NO!" She restated, more firmly than before. She was beginning to get agitated, and with good reason. Why was Vaughn being so…weird? So secretive? So…cheeky? "You're not getting _anything_ tonight, let alone these keys."

"Don't make me go into your purse and get them."

"Oh please," She scoffed. "I'd like to see you try to mug me. I could kick your ass five hundred different ways. Come and get me, big boy."

"That's quite all right."

"Good. Now let's go." She started to dig around in her purse again, looking for the disputed objects, when his outstretched palm flew under her nose.

"Okay. Just as soon as you give me the keys." Syd looked up in disbelief; her jaw slackened and eyes went wide. He curled his fingers repeatedly, beckoning for her compliance. The corners of his mouth were drawn so tightly that she could tell he was suppressing a giant smile. She usually loved when he did that; his face was always so cute, what with his raised eyebrows and forehead wrinkles and the cleft in his chin more pronounced than usual. But now she was tiring of their game and just wanted to go home.

But her mouth had a different plan.

"For the last fucking time, no!" She exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Would you just drop it? I'll drive us back to my apartment and your car so you can get your ass out of my sight."

"Oh, but my ass is so cute." Before she could slip in a biting remark he continued, "Well, then I'll just have to break into your car, hotwire it, kidnap you, and drive away." She scoffed loudly. "Oh don't even think I won't."

Finally tiring to the point of not caring, she haphazardly threw the keys at her boyfriend, not minding that they almost hit him in the face. "Fine. Here. But if so much as a bird craps on my car while you're driving, I will hurt you in so many different ways—"

"Honey, this is no place for S and M talk," He interrupted smoothly, chuckling at her subsequent eye roll. "Now, if you would be so kind, please get in, buckle up, and prepare for a surprise."

"I don't like surprises," Sydney grunted as she slid into the passenger's seat. "Remember lunch today?"

"Yeah," He chuckled again at the memory. "That was pretty damn funny."

Vaughn and Syd had made a point of avoiding each other all morning in order to live to the end of the day. The rumour was going around that Jack was storming about the Ops Centre looking for blood, namely Vaughn's. Sydney assumed that he would not be particularly happy to see her, either, and so she mainly kept to the perimeter of the building and remained moving as much as possible. But during her lunch break, Weiss though it would be funny to corner Syd in one room, Vaughn in another, somehow lead them to each other, and sic Jack on them under the pretense of 'processing a surprise walk-in.'

Needless to say, Weiss succeeded in something for the first time in his life, it was a miracle the couple survived the day without permanent physical disabilities, and Weiss had started watching his back and using mirrors to look around corners.

As they pulled out onto the street, Syd sighed heavily and responded, "You know, I would think you'd be just as pissed as I am! My father practically _told_ you he was going to poison your coffee tomorrow."

He shrugged it off. "Eh, I expected that. It was a small price to pay to see your face when he walked in. I thought you were going to pass out and die right there."

"Well how was I supposed to react?" She retorted, turning in her seat to face him. "We were practically groping each other in there! I'm surprised he didn't shoot you in the balls! I think screaming bloody murder and hiding behind a chair constituted a fitting reaction."

"Whatever you say, babe," Vaughn stated in an aloof tone, capping off their conversation. Sydney began paying attention to her surroundings. She had been in this part of the city before, so maybe they were going to a new restaurant for a late dinner. But she still could have driven them, her logic countered. Vaughn gave near-perfect directions; it's in the job description. She just _chose_ to ignore them sometimes…

Presumably tiring of the silence, Vaughn reach over and began fiddling with the radio stations. After a good solid minute of alternating static and snip-its of every song ever made, he finally settled on a Top 40 station that was playing the top pop ballads of the past decade. They had tuned in just in time to hear the years old "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You" by 'N Sync. Despite both of them groaning, no one moved to change it.

That should have been her first sign: cheesy boy band music on the stereo.

But they continued on in silence.

Syd began fidgeting. She was getting more and more curious as to where they were going. Her surroundings were still familiar, and they were starting to spark memories as well. There was the street to the warehouse…Over there was where they used to go 'window shopping'…At that bar they had conversations over the telephone while being mere feet apart…

When they passed the convenience store where he first offered her a 'Slusho', she could tolerate her lack of knowledge no more. "Where the hell are we going, Vaughn?" She asked, all of her frustration pouring out in those seven words.

Vaughn cringed melodramatically as he swung left on the street after the convenience store. "Wow. Take anger management classes much, Syd?" She gave him a Look, not really expecting him to notice. Surprisingly, he took his hand off the wheel to wag a finger at her, and she gasped out of fear for her car. He calmly regained his grip and drove on. "Simmer, Syd, simmer. I'm just avoiding all the streets where the gangs of pigeons congregate." Successfully resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, she continued to stare straight ahead. Becoming a shade more serious he added, "Don't worry; you'll like where we're going. I promise."

This did not sit well with Sydney, but she kept her lips glued together.

Soon enough, he slowed down so that they were practically crawling down the street; a toddler learning how to walk could have outrun their car.

That should have been the second sign: slowing down and the motorists' curses that followed.

He leaned forward over the steering wheel and pointed up towards the corner apartment on the top floor.

That third sign was the charm: she began to recognize the signs as they broke upon her consciousness.

The building itself was almost overshadowed by the surrounding complexes: it was just that small and _quaint_.

The apartments had small balconies.

Almost all of those balconies had flower boxes.

She could see Donovan sleeping from where she sat, and imagined she could hear his snores all the way from the street.

Her dreams were transferring over to reality.

Vaughn turned to her, positively beaming, and she could have sworn the wattage of the street lamps went up. "That's my apartment," He whispered proudly.

She could not help but mirror his smile watt for watt.

Then suddenly he swung left sharply, pulling into the small parking lot in front of the building. At first she did not know what he was doing, but then it dawned on her: _he was going to take her inside._ This was better than she could have hoped: not a drive-by, but an actual tour! She practically vibrated in anticipation.

He opened her car door for her, and she stepped out on shaky legs and nonexistent knees. Hand in hand, they strode towards the front door of his building. She made nice while he introduced her as his girlfriend to the doorman, a portly old man who looked more like part of the chipped sidewalk than a security guard. She patiently waited while he grabbed his mail from a line of silver boxes in the lobby, nodding politely to the receptionist when he introduced her to him as well.

Every nerve seemed to hum with activity as the elevator rode up to the top floor. He kept sneaking sidelong glances at Syd through the corner of his eye, monitoring her reaction like a hawk. Sneaking would not be the right word, though, as the entire cage was made of reflective metal, and she could see every move he made.

It finally spit the couple onto the desire floor, and although she thought she would need a stretcher or at least crutches to get to Vaughn's apartment, she began the stroll to his door at the end of the hall not far behind him. She began to hope desperately that they would run into no one else along the way; she knew she would not be able to handle stopping once more before their destination. Thankfully the corridor was deserted and stayed that way during their interminable stroll. Syd could feel her heart rate skyrocket and struggled to keep her palms from sweating too horribly.

They reached his white door, the gold paint on the numbers chipping and peeling. She saw him glance at her to gauge her reaction yet again, so she smiled: she had absolutely nothing against something that looked lived in. His hand hurriedly dove into his pocket, extracted a ring of keys, and fit one in the dead bolt. Locking eyes with his girlfriend, he squeezed her hand ever tighter, turned the knob, and opened the door into a whole new world.

It was nothing like she imagined it to be.

She thought there would be beer bottles and empty pizza cartons everywhere, even a chew toy or ten laying about. Instead, the surfaces were clean, dusted, and polished; a small wicker basket tucked neatly in a corner housed Donovan's play things. She gingerly tiptoed into a three-in-one room. To her left was the living area, complete with an entertainment centre, couch, loveseat, and well-used Lay-Z-Boy. A small coat closet nestled itself next to the door. A dinning room seat dominated the view in front of her at the back right corner of the room. The doors to the balcony opened up from behind it. In the far-left corner was a kitchenette with an island stove. Between the living and cooking areas there was a break in the wall, and a corridor ran off into the distance.

Leaving Vaughn at the doorway, she pursued this tangent. On her immediate left, a small well-kept bathroom sat beside a guestroom, obviously unused for a while. And on her right…her goal: his bedroom. She stepped inside reverently, as if she were walking into a church or similar holy site. White trimmed the pale blue walls, matching perfectly with navy blue quilt spread out across his bed against the left wall. Next to his nightstand was another doorway, no doubt leading to the master bathroom. She resisted the urge to peek in there, and instead continued to investigate his room.

The cherry wood of his bed matched the nightstand, which matched the dresser on her immediate left and across the room from the windows, which matched the long, low chest of drawers where his TV sat opposite his bed and next to the closet. The only piece of furniture that did not match was the computer desk tucked away in the far-left corner of the room. Passively, she wondered which he picked out himself and which he had help choosing.

There wasn't a dirty sock, pair of boxers, or even a single shoe anywhere to be found on the floor. The only remotely cluttered are of the entire apartment was the surface around his TV: a multitude of picture frames, hockey trophies, and framed certificates were scattered about like large chunks of confetti. This childlike quality coaxed a warm smile out of Sydney as she sat gingerly on the corner of her bed, resisting the urge to snap up a pillow and revel in his scent.

A throat cleared from the hallway, and she looked up to see Vaughn leaning nonchalantly in the doorway. Grinning as if he read her mind he stated, "Go ahead; take a pillow."

She gladly complied, holding the malleable fabric to her nose and inhaling again and again.

"So," He stalled, sidling across the room to sit beside her, "what do you think?"

"It's immaculate, Vaughn," She replied, still awestruck and slightly overwhelmed.

He smiled wider, practically puffing out his chest with pride. "Clean, isn't it?" She cocked an eyebrow, surmising everything from his tone. Deflating a bit he conceded, "I've been planning this for a while. I cleaned for an entire weekend to get it to look like this."

She laughed blithely and leaned into him, tossing the pillow behind her as she snuggled to his side. Looking up at him she whispered, "Thank you. Thank you for everything. I—this is just great."

So much for being a lit major.

But he continued smiling despite her lack of grace, rubbing her arm soothingly. He kissed the top of her head before he stood and crossed to the door. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I'll make us some sandwiches." He started to leave but stopped in mid-stride. Turning back to her he offered her a half-grin. "Oh and the middle drawer—" He pointed towards the dresser with the TV "—it's yours." And Vaughn continued down the hall, whistling an indiscernible tune.

Sydney almost fainted.

Almost.

But she did fall off the bed, thankfully without a large thump.

After crawling over to the dresser, she ran her fingers gingerly over the strong wood almost in disbelief. First a drive-by; then a tour; now a drawer! She thought the night could not possibly get any better.

Until she opened the drawer.

There, beside an extra set of new clothing, lay a single silver key. The same key he had shown her the day she called him on his questionable activities. The key to his apartment.

The only thing keeping her from fainting was her death grip on the poor metal object, forcing it to cut into her hand and make her feel something besides the numbing happiness threatening to engulf her being.

"Did you find it yet?" Vaughn called from the kitchen.

She remained immobile and incapable of speech. His footsteps gradually neared his bedroom again, and he appeared in the doorway wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Oh good," He sighed in relief. "I thought you fainted and hit your head on a corner or something."

All she could manage was a squeak in response.

Trying his hardest to tone down the smile glued to his face he said, "That's my not-so-subtle way of asking you to spend the night. See? I even bought you some clothes for tomorrow."

She shook her head slowly, still too bewildered for words. Gripping the edge of the dresser, she pulled herself up onto the Shakiest Legs in the World. Gradually they grew stronger as she crossed the room to stand in front of him, the key still gripped tightly in her palm. "Vaughn—" She started, her voice breaking with joy. They both laughed, and he reached out to her non-key-holding hand, throwing the towel over his shoulder. "Vaughn," She tried again, this time forty-seven times stronger, "are you sure we aren't moving too fast here?"

He shrugged and shook his head simultaneously. "No. But you never know for sure until you've tried it. Why don't we give this a shot? See how it goes?" They locked eyes, and she positively beamed before throwing her arms around his neck with such force that they were propelled backwards into the wall of the hallway. Laughing heartily and freely, Vaughn wrapped his arms about her waist and drew her closer, placing a quick kiss on her lips. "I love you so much, Sydney. There's no one else I'd rather do this with."

"Oh, God, I love you too," She whispered, burying her head in the crook of his neck as they hugged fiercely, never wanting to let go of one another.

Donovan chose that moment to waddle down the hall and begin sniffing curiously around Sydney's legs. They broke apart and laughed nervously, glad everything between them was no longer secret. He smiled down upon her, tightening his grip around her waist. "How 'bout those sandwiches now?"

***

She could not stand it for another moment. Ever since she had been given the drawer at his apartment, the temptation to peek into the drawer he kept at her place was unbearable. It taunted her every night before she went to sleep and every morning when she woke up. She literally though she was going to go insane.

So finally, a two measly days after her own drawer was bestowed upon her, she vowed to look into his drawer if it was the last thing she did.

That day, they arrived at her apartment after work to find both Francie and Will at home. Internally, Sydney did her happy dance. If she asked them sweetly or bribed them, they would distract her boyfriend long enough for her to sneak a look.

But, unfortunately, as soon as the couple walked through the door, Syd's friends shot up from the couch, grabbed their coats, and zoomed out the door, citing an emergency at the restaurant. Her hopes dampened slightly, but were not extinguished. Declaring hunger, she asked Vaughn to find something for them to eat while she 'changed into something more comfortable.' He complied eagerly.

Not even bothering to close the door, she scampered over to her bureau and ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the Middle Drawer. She slowly pulled it out and—

"Ah!" She screamed. About one hundred spring-loaded plastic snakes sprang into her face at once, and she scrambled to scrape them of her as fast as she could. Vaughn came running into her room with his shirtsleeves rolled up and another towel slung over his shoulder. When he caught sight of her, he simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Gotcha."

Sydney grunted in frustration and thew a handful of snakes at his retreating back. "Your drawer politics suck!"

"Get used to it!" He yelled back. "I'll be here for quite a while. I love my drawer!"

**__**

END


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